Describing an Of Montreal show is like setting the scene for a circus. Literally. The amount of cartoonish yet elaborate characters, the band-built set of props, the whirlwind of energy… it is difficult to pinpoint which component of the performance merits the most mention. When it comes down to it though, like the mark of any great band, it is the music that keeps people going. For a band like Of Montreal, their set is not an illusion designed to compensate for sub-par music. Neither is frontman Kevin Barnes’ energy, which is the quite opposite of a facade and a vocal part of his music whether on stage or not. So when I saw them for the first time on Saturday night, I was not surprised by the festival-like atmosphere. I knew that would be there. What stunned me was a remarkably tight performance that somehow managed to take the best parts of the band’s music and their renowned stage presence, both of which are anything but subtle. Such immaculate management prevented an overflowing of ideas, which is always possible considering the band’s lofty scope. Fans were treated to quality with no pretentious showmanship.

The success of their performance on Saturday night, the second of a two-night stint at Terminal 5, is no surprise to fans. When you have an opener like Janelle Monáe, who is successfully attaining fame in both independent and mainstream circles, it is hard to have doubts. The little that I caught of her set was excellent, and her re-emergence during the phenomenal “Enemy Gene” later in the night brought emphatic cheering from an audience that were thankful to be given an opener that sounded like a headliner. This occurred about mid-way through Of Montreal’s setlist, which to my delight was culled heavily from their new album, False Priest (review here), and my favorite, Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? (review here). Barnes and co. were able to seamlessly navigate their way around a setlist that, despite their striking stylistic similarities (like Barnes’ falsetto or a funk-heavy rhythm section), contained appropriate variations in tempo and mood.

A rendition of “Casualty of You” was a surprising entry in the midst of jolted dance-friendly efforts like “Godly Intersex” and “Girl Named Hello”, which was accompanied with dancers in pig masks who proceeded to grind it up with Barnes. Yet, they all maintained synchronization even as breathing room got thinner. As the sole ballad-like track on False Priest, “Casualty of You” fit naturally with songs from the same album despite its emotional distance. Barnes’ piano-driven delivery reached believable authenticity despite the more vivacious preceding efforts, which was played with expected mastery by longtime members Bryan Poole, Dottie Alexander, and others. Barnes stole the show’s visual factor, but the music was a collaborative tour-de-force that contained the tightness and infectiousness demanded from funk-heavy efforts.

Performances of “Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider” and “She’s a Rejector” reminded me how wonderful Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? was. Even though Barnes is three years past the divorce that plagued him to write many of the exceptional but forlorn efforts on Hissing Fauna, the same intensity was there as if it happened yesterday. It is questionable whether an audience should enjoy an artist’s suffering, so perhaps these tracks sounded bouncier and more fluid than usual because the issue is not as sensitive. Or maybe it is simply that the band was on their game. The intro to “Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider” focused on some very interesting glitch-pop, while “She’s a Rejector” retained the same successful anthem-against-heartbreak feel as it did three years ago. These songs were fantastic additions to the False Priest-heavy set, showing more alt-rock and electro-rock than funk but achieving a similar degree of irresistible uniqueness.

These earlier efforts had little dependence on the set or scenery, which Barnes described to Spinner as being a very collaborative effort: “It’s like we’re an art collective, in a way,” he said. “Everyone in the band is contributing, everyone is the crew is contributing and this is very collaborative experience for all of us. Our bass player is responsible for building 85 percent of the props we’re going to use on tour. My brother designed all of them. All of us are involved in filming all the video content.” Seeing as how tightly involved the band’s music was, it is not surprising to see that this was a mutual effort. Barnes may steal the show on more occasions than one, but it is clear that the Georgia-based collective are blessed with additional talent beyond their enigmatic frontman.

For a tour that has seemingly been developed like an elaborate film, with costumes and sets taking the entire summer to create, it certainly lived up to expectations. I am not sure how Barnes had enough time to write a great album like False Priest AND help organize an intricate tour like this, but that is beside the fact. The band put on an exceptional show that was lively but also somewhat grounded, featuring a very accessible setlist (for Of Montreal’s standards) and not straying too far from it, apart from a few admirable Michael Jackson covers to close the night. I recommend that you listen to False Priest, fall in love with it, and check to see if the band is coming somewhere near you. If not, it is one of those tours you will regret missing a year from now.

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Of Montreal – Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider

Of Montreal – Coquet Coquette

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by Josh Taylor

Julian Shah-Tayler was born to make music. Putting out an EP every few months and pumping out 50-70 songs a year is no easy feat, unless you show prevalently the aspects of a well-rounded musician. His robust musicianship is responsible for his versatility as an artist. What I noticed after listening to his latest EP, Un Ange Passe, is that Julian is a songwriter who creates for his heart’s content. He strays from songwriting conventions and isn’t afraid to experiment if it amuses his untypical sensibilities.

Julian’s songs distinctly belong to their maker. Un Ange Passe is very personal and all the songs on the EP (with the exception of “Wetter”) were written for a dearly departed friend of Julian’s who tragically passed away. The literal translation of the title “Un Ange Passe” is “an angel is passing”, but is usually used when an awkward silence falls over the room. The EP tells a brief and interesting story about what happened to Christine. Julian tells it well, as the story is endearing and stripped down to the most honest details.

Instead of diving into the story headfirst, the EP begins with “Wetter.”  The songs on the EP are sandwiched by “Wetter” and the remix of “Wetter” by Karl Leiker. This song is definitely the black sheep… uptempo, naughty lyrics and electro influence. The feel of the song is great and could be a radio hit. The second song on Un Ange Passe is “Everything Is You”, serving as a good transition into the rest of the EP, which is more relaxed musically. The song begins with finger-snapping, chimes and some elusive and wandering exotic-sounding instruments. Then iit develops a direction and chooses to take on a New Order/Depeche Mode feel. The nameless exotics remain, lending a curious tone to the song. It’s almost as if they don’t belong, but are still welcomed.

“Communication” resembles the sparse feel of a desert. It’s expansive (at 5 and a half minutes) and filled with many instrumental breaks. The track lulls and winds but I don’t know that it goes anywhere. All I know is that when I listen to it, I start to space out.  If Julian wanted “Communication” to have a daydream-inducing effect, then bravo — well done, because that is exactly what happens.

“Christine” is where the EP starts to come together and the song clearly lays out what exactly happened to his late friend of the same name. Make what you want of the other songs and interpret them as you wish, but here is what happened, Julian seems to say. Musically, “Christine” brings to mind The Smiths “How Soon Is Now?” and has the same pensive inquiry.  One of the most striking and revealing lyrics is “as the kiss of the needle delivers you to the real world” followed by this lyric in the bridge “even if this life could give you all the love you need, I guess you had enough.” The verdict: overdose.

Un Ange Passe occupies a certain estranged darkness, but it is only when the listener gets to “Christine” that I feel they can go back and find its lingering presence in the background of the entire EP. Perhaps that misplaced discomfort is the awkwardness that the album title also refers to. Still, the way the song is handled is half ode, half something else that I can’t quite pin down. For a song written for a close friend the song isn’t particularly sentimental, which is odd to me. However,  I think those feelings find their way into the next song “Lullabies.”

From what I heard, “Lullabies” was written for Julian’s future daughter. But the listener is also led to believe that perhaps the song’s tender message is intended for Christine as well. The lullaby soothes the listener as well as the singer, perhaps reminding him that everything will be fine and there really is nothing to be afraid of during the night, and maybe in death…

Whatever the ultimate purpose of Un Ange Passe is, it can be listened to in many different ways. Julian is adventurous with his artistic choices and presents his subject matter though a twisted lens. This is not to say that his method is perverse, but rather aiming for artistic perfection on his own terms. Some say that’s a nifty idea. I would say it’s better than nifty, or original, or clever. I would say the whole EP is a noble effort. Too many musicians make music to turn a quick buck but lack the vision to make something worthwhile. Others write for their heart’s content, yet lack the talent to make sophisticated music. Julian, however, is the best of both. He is talented and passionate, which shows remarkably.

One last thing I noticed: None of these songs showcase Julian’s piano talents, but word on the street is that his full-length debut does. Entitled Coito Ergo Sum, it is due in the fall. So keep an eye out, or an ear rather.

RIYL: Depeche Mode, Dave Gahan, New Order, Erasure, Pet Shop Boys, Duran Duran, The Cure, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Alphaville, David Wrench, The Human League, Gary Numan, Tears for Fears, Soft Cell, INXS, Talk Talk, A Flock of Seagulls, Naked Eyes, Blancmange

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Julian Shah-Tayler – Everything Is You

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Julian Shah-Tayler – Wetter

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Julian Shah-Tayler – In Your Room (Depeche Mode cover)

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Continuing with the recent theme of atmospheric pop music that Washed Out and Neon Indian showed us, Her Vanished Grace deliver a similar sort of layer-based sereneness that differentiates itself through dark and moody Brit-rock instead of chilly electronica or sample-based experimentation. By most accounts, Blue is their tenth release of new material since their debut, State of Grace, was released in 1991 with a promising take on atmospheric pop that revolved around assorted guitars and keyboards. Her Vanished Grace’s actual number of releases is somewhat debated due to their cult-like following, which has manufactured many assorted mixtapes and compilations in itself. If one thing is for certain though, it is the rare capability that this band has to remain interesting as time goes on. As their tenth release Blue shows us, it does not take a precise discography for a listener to witness Her Vanished Grace’s maturation. Their initial career reaped from interesting use of post-rock, noise, and shoegaze, wearing influences like Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine on their sleeves despite noticeably lo-fi production that prevented the New York-based group from reaching widespread recognition. Their work still touts those prestigious influences today, but now they infuse more of their originality in an effort to differentiate themselves. So far, so good.

The most recent incarnation of Her Vanished Grace commenced in 2000 with Colors Vols. 1 & 2, when the founding husband-and-wife duo of Charles and Nance Nieland disbanded the initial workings of Her Vanished Grace and combined forces with bassist Maria Theodosiadou and drummer Brian Haarer to form a more full-bodied version of their initial group. A vigorously talented rhythm section and higher-budget recording methods in addition to the songwriter-guitarist husband-and-wife duo paved way for their most successful period in the early to mid 2000s. Five new albums were released after Colors, the most recent being the excellent Blue. Although their success to date has been gaining momentum for several years now, Blue may be the knockout punch that propels this band from obscurity to unanimous acclaim. Charles and Nance met at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art about two decades ago, and ever since then they have been working together to pursue their dream of musical success. Time is only relative for artists, and many may consider success occurring after attributed experience is better than success prior to experience, for it is a factor that is a monumental factor in determining an artist’s durability.

Durability is synonymous with Her Vanished Grace, at least in the sense that longtime fans have yet to be disappointed with the four-piece. Billy Loose has since replaced Haarer on drums but the original duo along with Theodosiadou are still there along with their ambitions. In terms of stylistic exploration, Blue has little to offer in terms of breakthroughs, but their blending of familiar styles like power-pop and shoegaze into one beautiful audible landscape make up for any lack of stylistic innovation. To enjoy Blue one must push aside any stylistic biases regarding shoegaze, as common stylistic elements like reverb and gushing guitars are abundant but not utilized in a conventional manner. Since the melodies are crisp and polished in the form of modern indie-pop instead, the regressing influence is not exposed in the way one might expect. The excellent self-titled track instead reaps from an infectious blend of power-pop and post-punk, being grounded in production techniques involving heavy doses of reverb, thick tremolos, and heightening guitar arpeggios that clash with a bustling rhythm section to consume the listener through both pop-minded appeal and atmospheric vision. Like predecessors in the vein of Sonic Youth and Ride, Blue marks Her Vanished Grace’s true emerging period as a group putting their ambition to accessible use without sacrificing the ingenuity that got them there in the first place.

Although both Charles and Nance contribute vocal duties on Blue, Charles is primarily used due to the way his brooding vocals accentuate the retrospective and forlorn aroma of post-punk and shoegaze most commonly attributed to Her Vanished Grace. The band employs their differing vocal styles well, allowing each specialty to reap from their eclectic use of instrumentation. For instance, Charles is lead on the empowering “Blue”, where a brilliantly moody chorus provides awe-inspiring embrace in washed layers of guitars and synth pads. Its strength is dependent on darkening mood and evolving versatility, growing from an emotive guitar-driven piece to one guided by distinctive layers of sound that accompany a versatile croon that goes from low-pitched to an ethereal chant of sorts with heightened pitch. Charles’ presence is felt in the album’s darker tracks, leaving room for Nance to take control of more lighthearted efforts like “Rush”. With a better grasp of bubblegum-pop or lighthearted indie-pop in the vein of Metric or Mates of State, “Rush” works by using a bunch of repeating guitar chords before exerting itself into a chorus that reminds me of 90s Brit-rock in the vein of PJ Harvey, Black Box Recorder, or even less absurd Morrissey efforts like “Reader Meets Author” with its swirling sort of guitar-based simplicity. Although it strains itself from too much repetition, it is a nice reliever from Her Vanished Grace’s more emotionally complex efforts like “Blue and “Remember”, as enjoyable as they are.

The latter is narrative in approach as Charles and Nance participate in a duet, again retracing their steps to the amiable type of alt-rock that was abundant throughout the ’90s. With Charles’ vocals at times sounding like a cross between Gruff Rhys, Morrissey, and Hayden Thorpe (Wild Beasts), his versatile approach does wonders to this respective style along with the band’s tendency for anthemic hooks. Nance’s contributions contrast somewhat in terms of style, but the parallel creates very refreshing circumstances that are simply a testament to the group’s valuable chemistry. The diversity between efforts like “Blue” and “Rush” summarize the album’s success quite well, as Blue serves as an enjoyable release that relies on the band’s gathered experience in the spectrums of pop music and layer-based atmospherics. Without the experience of nearly two decades I would be surprised if Blue would have even been possible, but Her Vanished Grace have undoubtedly reached an artistic peak by doing so without sacrificing what got them here in the first place.

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Her Vanished Grace – Blue

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Her Vanished Grace – Slip Away

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Her Vanished Grace – Remember

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On the heels of next week’s CMJ festival in NYC, Tim Williams is exemplary of the local favorites you are bound to find there. The Brooklyn-based songwriter caught one of his first breaks at CMJ in 2004, shortly after his debut Tales of Digression, and has been riding the wave ever since. Employing a very formidable style of indie-pop, Williams’ mixture of slick guitar riffs, inventive chorus-based hooks, and ardent vocals with the occasional yelps and grunts should cater to fans of Phoenix, Ben Kweller, Danielson, and Modest Mouse. His sound has a very contemporary feel to it, due in part to the continuous sense of capriciousness that his caressing vocals and versatile guitar work collaborate to produce. As a result, Williams has always been one or two hits away from holding a similar status as these major players. He has always enjoyed little more than local success though due to his past two album’s lack of exposure and focus. Their primary gratification was the demonstration of potential rather than fully embodied talent. The songs on Tales of Digression and its 2007 follow-up, When Work Is Done, sometimes appeared rough around the edges or devoid of focus, but what they did have was an imaginative premise with expertly integrated hooks. Cohesiveness was simply the final ingredient that Williams was missing to formulate his success.

Williams’ third album, Careful Love, continues the artistic maturity that its predecessor, When Work Is Done, showed off so impressively. It is not that Williams is particularly groundbreaking or stylistically inventive; his style of indie-pop should sound familiar to anyone with an ear or two. Instead, it is what he makes of it that is so worthwhile. Listening to snippets of any given track probably will not convince anyone of his artistic merits, but what a full listen of Careful Love exposes is a sensibility that is rare amongst most contemporary pop songwriters. There is a sense of virtuosity here, which in itself is a commodity since the respective genre is one where playing it safe is often advised. Williams does a little bit of both on Careful Love, mixing imminent college-radio favorites like “I Hit Another Wall” and “Oceans” with more avant-garde efforts (at least for the realm of indie-pop) that explore varying tempos, deliveries, and styles ranging from the dab of funk in “Ozone Street” to the electro-industrial influence of the rhythmically inclined “Right All Along”. When these are supplemented every other track or so that instead contain breezy, carefree indie-pop that requires little attentiveness to enjoy, it finds a nice middle ground between overly accessible indie-pop and intimidating avant-garde.

That Careful Love falls into neither category as a cumulative effort is a feat that his previous two albums did not accomplish, though When Work Is Done came close to doing so. Williams wrote this most recent effort after he successfully underwent open-heart surgery in May 2008, wasting no time after getting out of the hospital in writing tracks that packed more sincerity and expansiveness than before. One of the reasons for this expansiveness was the addition of a full band, which make their appearance on Careful Love in fantastic form. Where previous efforts would find Williams strumming his acoustic guitar with little to no accompaniment, the heightened sense of collaboration on Careful Love also attributes to the stylistic ambitiousness that the release portrays. “Stilts” is another nice example of Williams’ inventive indie-rock, utilizing the sounds of a sliding electric guitar and reflective arpeggio as Williams . This particular vocal technique is done throughout the album, with yelps or whoo-hoos making apt appearances on entertaining choruses that also include “Right All Along”, the orchestral dramatics of “I Want to Die in California”, and “Oceans”. The latter is so serene that it almost becomes reminiscent of Coldplay with its melancholic keys or Little Joy with its bright guitar chords. The title implies relaxation and the composition strongly enforces that carefree ideology with a brisk melody and flourishes of tropical bliss.

Another interesting cut on the album includes “I Want to Die in California”, a genuinely touching closer that reminds me of David Vandervelde’s fantastic debut, The Moonstation House Band. In that album he juggled grandiose orchestral-pop with the likes of indie-rock and glam-rock, resulting in something both nostalgic and groundbreaking. This effort is quite similar, finding Williams converting his classically soothing indie-pop croon to one with a western-ish twang. It feels particularly old-fashioned with its natural pianos and strings on an album that is primarily led by guitars and electronic tweaking, but that is also part of its allure. He finds himself singing in the vein of Dennis Wilson, who was able to turn the simplest pop songs into awe-inspiring achievements of emotion with his vocal and songwriting talents. A songwriter like that is perfectly justifiable for comparison, as Careful Love shows an artist who is just beginning to recognize his own emotive skills. Williams’ songs have resulted in an album that will be looked back on as the commencement of Williams’ most prominent growth as a songwriter. When he takes the stage at CMJ this year, audiences that saw him five years earlier will likely drop their jaws at this guy’s improvement. He is still showing heaps of potential, but he has durable quality and consistency to back it up now.

RIYL: Phoenix, Ben Kweller, Danielson, David Vandervelde, Modest Mouse, Dennis Wilson

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Tim Williams – Ozone Street

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Tim Williams – I Want to Die in California

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Tim Williams – Right All Along

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Identifying the differences between concise indie-rock and avant-garde developments are more complex than analyzing track’s duration and selection of instrumentation. There are supremely talented musicians in each spectrum, with their method of choice usually being dependent on inspirational or influential precedents. But when we try to compare the Spoon’s and Phoenix’s of the world to a group like Animal Collective, it is more ideal to simply say that two produce indie-rock and the other puts out experimental indie-rock. To define something as experimental is usually subjective after all, though the ambition of certain artists will always remain indisputable. But when we use that term, it tends to designate an artistic technique that is either derivative and manipulated to wildly innovative means or entirely original in that it accomplishes something singularly unique despite some minor miscues (which are to be expected, as they can eventually unfold as a contributory entity). Each spectrum occasionally overlaps with one another, but for the most part the concise rockers and audible scientists remain consistent in separating themselves in the fact that experimentation has little to no commercial allure. I am not referring to the readers of this site or others similar, as they tend to exist outside commercialism’s grasp, but rather the ones that rely on advertisements and incomplete samples to form an opinion surrounding their potential interest in an artistic topic.

As consumers we tend to eliminate the mere idea of trying something more than once if the previous endeavor was not worthwhile, leaving many musicians with an unfair disadvantage in selecting their stylistic output. There is a generalization to group all music that surpasses commercial expectations in the realm of experimentation, which is quite rash considering it is one of the only genres where no prior template is possible to work off of. Sure, you could say Animal Collective borrowed components from The Beach Boys and Paul Simon among others, but there is no exact science in determining whether an artist has utilized the precise same template as a peer. It may be similar to another, but like a fingerprint there is not one exactly like it. Jesus H. Foxx could say that their influences had a role in their sound, but their uniqueness comes in their ability to border between punchy indie-rock and thought-provoking experimentation with seamless precision. The result is one of unparalleled, ceaselessly exciting awe. It sounds familiar and nostalgic while concurrently providing refreshing ideas to pop music that have delighted my ears in addition to the majority of critics that have stumbled across the British septet thus far.

Originating in the summer of 2007, Jesus H. Foxx was primarily the remnants of several fallen bands around the Edinburgh area. The collection of longtime released their debut 7”, Tightt Ideas, in 2008 as a five-piece in before acquiring two more members. They now consist of two drummers, three guitarists, a bassist, and a cornet/glockenspiel player as a result. Self-admitted fetishists of American experimental indie-rock in the vein of Animal Collective and Deerhoof, they appear indebted to groundbreaking innovations equally to accessible, psychedelic-minded pop music. This remains particularly reminiscent of Arthur Russell, whose work was so uniquely ambitious that it would be impossible to hear it prominently within the work of others unless they were sloppily ripping him off. His influence on this group, like the others, is more subtle and only prevalent to those familiar with his work. But like Russell, you can hear the seven members of Jesus H. Foxx aligning their pop ideologies with otherworldly, impressively intricate structures and developments.

Jesus H. Foxx’s new release, Matter, expands upon the impressive territory of Tightt Ideas by diversifying the six tracks on the release. To begin with where it ends, the last two songs on Matter are particularly reminiscent of this aforementioned Russell influence, particularly in the way they both use reverb and unconventionally tuned instrumentation. The self-titled track sees little more than a mumble initially to serve as a vocals, but as the track progresses with the echoes of an acoustic guitar overlapping beautifully over twinkles of keys and spatters of percussion it becomes apparent that Jesus H. Foxx is a group that plans meticulously. The rest of Matter is divided between accessibility and experimentation, with “I’m Half the Man You Were” and “Trying to Be Good” almost stealing the show. Both show a clear Talking Heads influence, in the vocals obviously with the deep oh-so-cool Verlaine tone but more prominently in how the track builds on infectiously concise guitar progressions and pleasurable eruptions deriving from the rhythm section. With female vocals coo-ing behind the snazzy Tom Verlaine-Michael Gira hybrid lead, it makes for a remarkably addictive effort. Jesus H. Foxx takes cue from songwriters like these, who apply strong pop foundations with intricately bizarre influences to create music that is sometimes confusing and a bit overwhelming, but for the most part Jesus H. Foxx are excitedly progressing into an act that we would be wise to keep an eye on.

RIYL: Animal Collective, Talking Heads, Deerhunter, Atlas Sound, Pavement, Arthur Russell

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Jesus H. Foxx – I’m Half the Man You Were

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Jesus H. Foxx – Trying to Be Good

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Jesus H. Foxx – Matter

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The Cubical recorded their debut album during the humid Californian summer, complemented by the production skills of a veteran in Dave Sardy whose resume includes Johnny Cash and The Rolling Stones. A reputable producer, a studio in Hollywood, and touting the glories of a California sun are commonly characteristics of any short-lived, big-label act these days, so it would probably be easy to group The Cubical in with the rest. How premature that would be though, especially considering that their sound is the contrary of such cliches. Their studied approach takes listeners to the past with a refreshing ideology rather than bringing them to familiar territory with nothing but a pre-designed template at their side. This is one way to prove that The Cubical transcend their natural advantages, though Dan Wilson’s vocal delivery is singularly the component that separates them from the others featured on this site that also attribute slight stylistic interpretations to common themes of the past.

That Wilson sounds like a possessed madman just waiting for an exorcism makes his presence uniquely empowering on its own. As listeners will learn though, this is not the primary allure. How Wilson is able to manipulate his half-enraged, half-deranged tone is what brings The Cubical’s debut, Come Sing These Crippled Tunes, to great heights. For instance, we all know that Tom Waits has a coarsely unique voice that is entirely his own. Certainly his audience is attracted to it too, but do you honestly think they would keep coming back if he had nothing to say? He relays all kinds of wonderfully bizarre narratives, but how he alternates his vocal pattern (somber whimper developing into a coarse mumble, etc.) in coordination with the content at hand. The band’s own producer, Dave Sardy, could probably tell you that himself by working with Johnny Cash, who even before Waits had this technique down pat. Neither have the voice that Simon Cowell would get on his knees for, but they were both inarguably able to accomplish more vocalized distinction than any eventual winner of Americal Idol will thanks in part to this ability. Correlating one’s God-given vocal chords with the applicable songwriting that their talents provided them is quite difficult, but artists like Cash and Waits have paved the way for talented musicians like The Cubical in that regard.

As Wilson croons about a certain infatuation with little fingertips and a tiny silhouette on “Edward the Confessor”, listeners will be tempted to either cower in fear and raised eyebrows or take solace in a voice that is one of the most unique devices for interpretation you are likely to find on a rock album. With roaring guitars, bluesy organs, and thunderous percussion, the five-piece tread in territories of rockabilly and power-pop depending on the effort, though modernistic classic-rock might be the best tag for this group. “Edward the Confessor” is frantic in its guitar-powered romps, making room for occasional absences of instrumentation in its entirety for breaks that serve to either introduce a rollicking guitar solo or a coarse rumble from Wilson. Either one is welcome throughout the entire effort as Wilson pleads for forgiveness to a beloved who evolves from an object of infatuation to a symbolic representation of repressed desires and superficial privation. “No, no, pay the price with such fame and virtue,” he screeches, allowing for the shift between repressed forgiveness and exhausted agitation.

Like any good film, the best part about The Cubical is how it keeps the listener on the edge of their seat despite some predictable consistencies. Although Wilson’s voice may take some getting used to in its resonant consistency and tonal pattern, it becomes a redeeming component of the band’s sound in tracks like “Edward the Confessor” and “Like Me (I’m a Peacock)”. The latter begins with a guitar riff that is so soaked in so much reverb and old-fashioned melodic goodness that it immediately invokes nostalgia. The chorus follows a similar path, even if Wilson’s lyrical urgings of ripping his unrequited lover from the ground may have been a bit too risque for the ’60s. The music is not too far from the era though, as the classic-rock feel is better than ever here with nothing more than guitar and rhythm dominating successfully. Wilson calls himself a demon quite suitably in the lyrics as well, and his voice only allows for the listener to picture the face of a disgruntled but talented individual whose repressed adoration has led him to this point. This point? I almost made the point of artistic triumph sound detrimental for a second. My apologies. The Cubical deal with some pretty gruesome takes on romanticism and repressed love throughout Come Sing These Crippled Tunes, but at all points it is simply a refreshing addition to a sound that would not sound appropriate any other way. Would you really want Dan Wilson’s voice to be singing about lollipops and rainbows? I didn’t think so.

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The Cubical – Edward the Confessor

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The Cubical – Like Me (I’m a Peacock)

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The Cubical – Great White Lie

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Dead Young Records

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In an age where audible masculinity is often associated with loud guitars and aggressive screaming, you are really putting yourself out in the open (and taking a few commercial risks) by shaping your vinyl records in the shape of a heart. Sociological standards have changed just as much, if not more, than music in the past seven decades, and to associate hearts with music nowadays seems to either involve Disney’s latest abstaining sensations or overly adorable indie-pop. Thus, to expect something modern-sounding out of Drew Cohen, better known Mayer Hawthorne, might be premature. After all, this is the same guy who asked his label, Stones Throw, if they could press his debut single like Bobby Caldwell did in the early ’80s, when his vinyl was pressed into the shape of a heart. The reason? Simply because the songs dealt with love. Taking a cue from a blue-eyed soul songwriter like Caldwell seems apt for Cohen, even if his his primary influences are actually scattered throughout the ’50s and ’60s. What is amicable among these soul songwriters, though, regardless of whether they originated in the ’50s or ’80s is the prevalence of ardency, even if it takes away a lot of the masculinity that rock ‘n’ roll instills. But for those music fans that are truly fans, this should be irrelevant. In the case of Cohen, the lack of self-concern is a breath of fresh air.

Detroit’s prominence nowadays mainly arises from high crime rates, but anyone without knowledge of the city’s illustrious musical history has a lot of great acts waiting for them (most of which they probably know). In that sense, it is one of the richest cities in the nation. The city has seen plenty of great rock acts – from Iggy & the Stooges to The White Stripes – emerge over the past couple decades, but perhaps Detroit’s most embodied sense of musical history was its role during the explosion of R&B and soul in the ’50s. Motown Records, important for both its role in racial desegregation and massive corporate success, is home to Detroit, as were artists like Smokey Robinson and The Temptations. The role of Detroit in building a foundation for future soul artists was integral. As a result, you can imagine the influence it had on the Detroit kids that were growing up in the ’50s and ’60s. Being surrounded by such a stylistically invigorating phase must have been invigorating and utterly memorable. For the artistically inclined growing up in Detroit, seeing the simultaneous abundance of rock ‘n’ roll, R&B, and soul from the early ’50s toward the late ’70s must have left a unique impression, one that perhaps made their future endeavors considerably more eclectic and nostalgic than their peers.

Growing up just outside of Detroit in Ann Arbor, Cohen’s childhood was surrounded by music. And although he was born too late for Detroit’s legendary era of rock and soul (he grew up in the ’80s), his father was not. A full-time owner of an auto-parts store and part-time musician, Cohen’s father introduced Motown to him at a young age. They would listen to Motown together on his way to work, with the younger Cohen asking his father dozens of questions for each song that came on the radio. The father would gladly respond with all the answers, igniting his son’s passion for music in the process. The ’80s was not an era when Motown was being played continuously on the radio, but we can all thank Mr. Cohen for being a bit behind the times and exposing his son to music that would eventually separate him from his peers in his musical career. It is ironic how something deemed as “outdated” can lead to freshly concocted ideas years afterward, perhaps showing that influences are never really outdated at all. Cohen’s father still unsurprisingly plays in a band back in Detroit, while he has been turning heads with his Mayer Hawthorne project. Originally started for pure fun, playing soul favorites for family and friends evolved into something more for Cohen. Considering Cohen had spent most of his time prior working as a DJ for underground hip-hop group Now On, some could say that his foray into soul music was like discovering a latent talent for the first time.

A fan of everything from hip-hop to grunge, Cohen’s interpretation of neo-soul on his debut A Strange Arrangement borrows both modernistic and retro components of pop and Motown to establish a release that separates itself from contemporaries like Raphael Saadiq and Lee Fields. The self-titled track is one of the album’s most stunning, taking the signature layers of Motown orchestration to produce a smooth and heavily seductive mixture of brass, piano, and guitars incorporated into a stunning rhythm section. The rhythm sounds casual and slowly paced, but the way it leads and develops the track’s peaks under Cohen’s absolutely stunning vocals is unforgettable. The main hook, signaled by the abrupt descending of bass notes, recalls The Stylistics and other Philly soul groups that treated listeners with smooth subtleties and lavish orchestration. “But I can’t stand by while you break my heart in two,” he laments during the hook, solidifying the timeless and old-fashioned gripes of unrequited love in ways so sincere that today’s youth is hardly familiar with it. This track is extremely reminiscent of the past, but many others on the album do assume a more contemporary standing.

“Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out” was the first song completed for the album and the one that prompted Stones Throw to commission Cohen for a full album. This one applies more swiftness and gradual guitar work, with the falsetto and backing vocals being more up-to-date with modern blue-eyed soul artists like Jamie Lidell. Meanwhile, “Maybe So, Maybe No” utilizes some crisp brass incorporated with funk (à la Matthew Herbert) to showcase some very intelligent songwriting. “Green Eyed Love” is quite fascinating for its hazy keyboard lead and updated production, sounding more along the lines of a stripped-down Gnarls Barkley than a ’60s soul artist. It always works though regardless of contemporary standing, and that in itself justifiably shows why A Strange Arrangement is one of the most enjoyably accessible debuts of the year.

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Mayer Hawthorne – A Strange Arrangement

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Mayer Hawthorne – Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out

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Mayer Hawthorne – Green Eyed Love

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The “Omaha Sound” is one of the few stylistically determinable phrases of this decade that lacks pretentiousness and overwrought conceptual tasks. To describe a stylistic trend during a specific era, we tend to resort to concocted terminology like the “British Invasion”, “Paisley Underground”, or “mod revival” in order to provide proper basis for comparisons and description. It is a shortcut in describing a certain period, since its convenience lies in the generalization that agreeing upon a specific era’s artistic leaders and brand names is often mutual among music fans. These names, whether originated from an inside-joke like “Paisley Underground” or simply made from a historically directive standpoint in “mod revival”, often tend to create themselves without effort. Historians tend to take credit for coinage the most, but journalists and artists are certainly close behind. These names usually take decades to form and become widespread, as one who assumes that a certain movement will become historical is contemplating with too much inherent bias in order to be worried about terminology. But one trend that has become recognizable for all savvy music fans of the ’00s is the output of Saddle Creek, a label whose name has become synonymous with quality indie-folk that defies the necessities of glitzy, commercial pop music.

Conor Oberst, Saddle Creek’s initial co-founder alongside his brother Justin, certainly represents his label’s most recognizable venture with his Bright Eyes project, but Saddle Creek has gradually evolved into one of the world’s most respectable folk labels. To singularly label Saddle Creek as a “folk label” seems somewhat linear considering they have more energetic, guitar-based groups like Tokyo Police Club and Land of Talk on their current roster, but its reputation as a folk-friendly label still is reflective in the bulk of its acts. Epic narratives and gritty acoustic guitars still tower over fancy production and full-blown orchestras over at Saddle Creek, and one of their latest signings in Old Canes brings us back to the label’s early days when they were salvaging the most promising acts from the new and emerging indie-folk scene of the early ’90s. To group one of Kansas’ beloved acts, The Appleseed Cast, into this mold might seem a bit forced. After all, intricate post-rock with howling vocals and pulsating guitar work contrasts with the barren folk that Saddle Creek is renowned for. Perhaps this is why it comes as such a surprise that Christopher Crisci, The Appleseed Cast’s frontman, has emerged with one of the finer folk releases of 2009.

Few artists are faced with the obstacle of turning an electric sound into an acoustic sound, as the latter is often employed more for initially developmental works that would allow additional instrumental work. Crisci was faced with this dilemma in 2001 when he was touring with The Appleseed Cast. Promoters wanted a more accessible, acoustic sound for the in-store shows and this prompted Crisci to reach into the depths of his songwriting vault. After pulling out some acoustic songs that had never seen the light of the day, the reception was so encouraging that Crisci decided to pursue the sound even further. Upon establishing his solo project, Old Canes, he surprised fans with his 2004 debut, Early Morning Hymns, and the introduction of a folkier sound that possessed the same ardency of The Appleseed Cast with a startlingly different style. Instead of being compared to Mogwai and Minus the Bear, Crisci’s work was now being mentioned alongside Neutral Milk Hotel and other elusive Elephant 6 acoustic-psyche acts. Crisci was sincere with his gravelly vocals and acoustic guitar, utilizing lo-fi production that is not reluctant to show its crackles or audible deficiencies. Instead, these flaws took up a chronological role of their own in making a 2004 release sound like it was a classic from the ’70s. Minus Story’s Jordan Geiger was there to throw in everything from trumpets to glockenspiels, roughing out the edges and making the comparisons more evident to Elephant 6-like recordings. He was generally responsible for the difference between ’70s psyche-folk and ’90s pop-experimentation, and with Crisci was responsible for the accomplished Early Morning Hymns.

Crisci’s debut got the attention of Saddle Creek, who agreed to release the follow-up Feral Harmonic this October. Crisci has released two albums with The Appleseed Cast since the release of Early Morning Hymns, so it was interesting to hear how his fascination with acoustics and folk music played out with more experience on his side. The Appleseed Cast’s 2006 album, Peregrine, incorporated more guitar-based acoustics and diversity than any of the group’s albums before it, while their new album this year (Sagarmatha) was primarily a foray into gradually evolving post-rock. Feral Harmonic comes out of nowhere in being incomparable to any Appleseed Cast releases, while only retaining traces of Old Canes’ debut. Crisci is not necessarily making a transition, but rather learning how to incorporate all of his knowledge and strengths. Tracks like the forewarning “Trust” and “Sweet” incorporate heightened tempos and more intricate structures, all while retaining a core acoustic sound that complements Crisci’s vocals as effectively as ever. “Sweet” brings out some of Geiger’s toy pianos and glockenspiels again, while the trumpets add some extra oomph to a curious arrangement filled with delightful twists and turns.

“Trust” also serves as one of the album’s most noteworthy efforts, with an eruption of passion ushering itself in appropriately after a subdued section in which twinkling keys are the only noticeable instrument. When the strong acoustical strums and hectic flurry of keys collide, the immersion is unavoidable. “Little Bird Courage” is particularly demonstrative of the excellent drumming on this album; how it evolves and eventually introduces the toy pianos and trumpets creates an extraordinary build-up that kicks off the album with triumphant artistic vigor. Feral Harmonic is a bolder, more unpredictable release than its predecessor. It sharpens its production with more instrumentation and proper mixing, but the raw authenticity of the folk delivered on Early Morning Hymns is not lost. Crisci is as emotive as ever, and his ability to craft truly epic songs with the sincerest of emotions in mind is a true talent that he puts to proper use in Old Canes’ excellent Feral Harmonic. The “Omaha Sound” is safe in the hands of Old Canes, a group that appears poised for success due to their estimable veneration for evolving post-rock and raw indie-folk alike. Never has the combination sounded so sincere.

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Old Canes – Trust

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Old Canes – Little Bird Courage

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Old Canes – Sweet

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Even if it brings necessary experience and helpful recognition, having a lengthy career also ignites some associations that can be highly detrimental to an artist’s frame of mind. Few would prefer anonymity to prominence, but even without the paparazzi there are some consequences to musical fame that prompt some to remain low-key. Though once one accomplishes an objective triumph, it is realized that it is more difficult to run from fame than accomplish it. Grant-Lee Phillips has always been an artist on the verge of both territories. His impressive array of work has stretched over 20 years, with a new project encompassing the three decades of his career. With each one, he has found success that is both unique and durable, at least in a relative sense. The borderline between songwriting genius and instantaneous fame is too small to tread, but Phillips has somehow sat here comfortably throughout his entire career. He is accustomed to critical acclaim and large audiences, but knowing that it is not the type of street-stopping fame that often disrupts artistic legends is perhaps one of the secrets to Phillips’ enduring success. Without the pressures of fame attempting to derail an authentic style or ideology, Phillips has the option of limiting his sources of constructive external knowledge to one of the most reliable and consistent: his own fan base.

If you were one of the few that heard Shiva Burlesque’s 1987 self-titled debut upon its initial release, there is a good chance that you have followed Phillips’ career up to now. That is hard to say for a lot of artists too, as deteriorating with age has occurred so abundantly that we are led to assume it is normative among artists of all kinds. Phillips is the rare breed of songwriter; his ideological talents (songwriting and stylistic intentions) are as consistent as his boastfully powerful voice and stellar sense of production. For an artist to retain any of these throughout a 25-year period is impressive, but for Phillips to maintain all of them while undergoing the transitioning of different eras and stylistic norms serves as indication of his gifted musical intellect. With that in mind, it is hard to believe his first artistic priorities were in film. Before he formed Shiva Burlesque with Jeff Clark, he was a film student attempting to sort out his life in LA. But upon re-acquainting with Clark – a fellow Stockton, California native – Phillips began to view music as his calling again, with he and Clark finding a mutual adoration of local L.A. underground college-rock groups like Rain Parade, Dream Syndicate, and other members of the “Paisley Underground” to be their biggest inspirations.

The “Paisley Underground”, a broad term used to describe a collection of alt-rock groups in ’80s Los Angeles, showed its influence on Phillips early. This term encompassed artists that incorporated psychedelic production into folk-rock and/or power-pop, eventually forming a tight-knit community in the L.A. area due to its aligning sound. The Bangles arguably had the most mainstream success out of this niche. A guitarist since high school, the “Paisley Underground” wave hit Phillips hard and attributed to the sound of Shiva Burlesque’s debut and its 1990 follow-up, Mercury Blues. Despite glowing reviews and a devoted California audience, Shiva Burlesque parted ways shortly after that to pave the way for Phillips’ next project. Great songwriting and performances could simply not hide the fact that their sound was somewhat outdated (at least in regard to L.A.’s music scene in the late ’80s). Along with the drummer and bassist of Shiva Burlesque, Phillips formed Grant Lee Buffalo to begin the ’90s. This project saw four fantastic albums be released from 1993’s Fuzzy to 1998’s Jubilee, all of which drew praise for a matured sound that was more contemporary in its guitar-based interpretation of alternative and folk-rock. Think of them in the vein of other ’90s landmarks like Pearl Jam or Cracker, both of which they opened for at some point, but with more folk and rootsy rock ‘n’ roll.

Grant Lee Buffalo disbanded in 1999 due to growing frustrations over lack of recognition. They certainly had a reason to gripe; practically all publications lauded their releases and other groups openly shared their adoration of Grant Lee Buffalo, but they could never attain even a glisten of commercial success. Frustrated but unfazed, Phillips began his solo work at the beginning of the millennium and has not looked back. Similarly to his preceding efforts, his four solo albums thus far has seen a combined fusion of glowing press and mediocre sales. As mature as Phillips is though, he must understand that the bulk of society is neither educated nor patient enough to recognize quality art. His hooks are evolutionary and often require attentive listening, and his attire does not contain glitter or giant sunglasses. Therefore, expecting fame is unrealistic, but to handle an undeserved lack of recognition the graceful way Phillips has is one of the many reasons why he is still going strong. Very strong actually. His fifth solo album, Little Moon, is one of the best releases of his career, which is saying a lot since he has never released a lackluster one out of the dozen or so. It is still distinctively Grant-Lee Phillips at play, but with a versatility that is more abundant among artists like Ryan Adams (as a track like “Nightbirds” can explain) or Beck.

Rolling Stone hailed Shiva Burlesque’s debut with gushing praise over 20 years ago, which was a decade or so before they called Phillips one of the greatest active male vocalists. It simply attests to his durability and how those able to recognize quality are aware of Phillips’ presence. Like Paul Weller, Phillips’ aggressiveness and fury within his work has subsided a bit with age. His songwriting power never lacks though. A track like “Little Moon” would sound uncharacteristic several years ago with its lush keys and plucked acoustics, but a charming piano-pop ballad like this one shows that it is Phillips’ by the songwriting alone. “It all starts with a seed so small for a song, little flower,” he sings, alternating his voice to a ghostly high-pitch before a series of dramatic violins emerge as the bridge. It seems to describe the evolution of personalities among individuals, with character study being a favorite theme among Phillips’ work (particularly in the vein of artistic struggles, like creating an album or song). In his case, he has expanded to styles that complement his songwriting beautifully. He returns to alt-rock theatrics on “Strangest Thing”, which bristles with energy in its swirling keys and concise guitar licks. This is also one of the most radio-friendly tracks of his career, and if anything serves as a potential commercial break-out for Phillips this would be it. This album should do that on its own though. This is such a fantastic work that I hope it exposes Phillips for what he is: one of the best songwriters of the past three decades. Little Moon is simply another testament to that.

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Grant-Lee Phillips – Strangest Thing

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Grant-Lee Phillips – Little Moon

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Grant-Lee Phillips – Nightbirds

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Melodramatics and optimists certainly do not go hand-in-hand, even if some of their ideologies appear to overlap. Both can have be flawed in thinking with their emotions, as well as dealing with certain situations in a manner that accurately reflects their subjective standards, whether it be in an unrealistically positive or negative light. It simply goes to show that no matter how different some things are, there is often a shared bond that can unite the two. It can be visual, ideological, or even audible, as is the case with a variety of musical styles that appear to clash cohesively with others that depict differing moods, styles of production, or overall instrumentation. Most classicists and experts of a certain genre tend to look down upon anything deemed a “fusion”, for it would be practically a crime to tamper with something that they are so accustomed to understanding with the utmost comprehension. However, when certain listeners are able to look past the genre tags and listen to the music for what it is, it often provides a more rewarding experience that is evidenced by the quality of music at hand. To fuse two highly contrasting styles or approaches though, it requires more than mere musicianship. For this, chemistry is key.

In the case of two longtime best friends, it could easily be attributed to luck if they were both talented musicians. Luck certainly plays a role in the evolution of any successful act, but chemistry always looms as the most prominent factor in determining whether a career will fade or sustain. Obviously, best friends should be aware of the usual implications after a fight between the two; it is healthy knowledge that originates from normative behavior. For Jonathan Pierce and Jacob Graham, knowing that they could push differences aside and reconcile was one of the lures in forming The Drums. Best friends since childhood when they met at a summer camp, they remained that way until a five-year lull found neither speaking to one another. When they reconciled though, it was apparent that their friendship was one of social and artistic value. The mutual shock and excitement over hearing a specific song or artist that they could both adore simultaneously was still there, as were comparable songwriting talents that allowed both to get down to business without deliberating about a destined style. And considering both had excelled their musical intellect over the absent years, forming a band together seemed only practical.

When living their own lives, Pierce and Graham have chosen different paths despite their shared adoration of music. Pierce fronted Elkland, a new-wave group that scored big label status with Columbia Records and their 2005 debut, Golden, drew some positive press. Elkland was short-lived though, and the four-piece split amicably in 2006. Elkland’s former guitarist, Adam Kessler, made the move with Pierce to form The Drums with Graham, who prior to this was making pleasant indie-pop with Drew Diver in Horse Shoes, not snow shoes, from aspen ski rentals. The parallels between Elkland and Horse Shoes are abundant, both producing elegant pop music with natural-sounding synths in the vein of The Tough Alliance or Air France. Horse Shoes’ “Hey Come Back!” shows this off so well that I included a sample below; the chirpy synths and angelic reverb on the vocals should be reminiscent of the recent explosion of modernistic, sample-led synth-pop in Sweden. The Drums certainly take some of this as an influence, along with two other genres that may initially come across as perplexing. Glittering synth-pop, surf-rock, and gloomy post-punk are hardly the most analogous genres, but listeners will also find the latter two in addition to the aforementioned synth-pop in The Drums’ sound. It could have resulted in something unbearably sloppy, but knowing the genuine chemistry between Pierce, Graham, and their two longtime collaborators – Kessler and drummer Connor Hanwick – should make it hardly surprising that The Drums pull off unconventional fusion quite well.

Although artists ranging from The Smiths to The Tough Alliance have influenced The Drums, they personally cited The Wake as arguably the most distinctive influence. The Scottish group released four albums throughout the ’80s and ’90s, infusing dream-pop and post-punk aesthetics to cohesively move between decades. The Drum’s debut release, Summertime!, likes to sit in similar territory. One of the more noticeable efforts, “Down By the Water”, even hearkens back to ’60s pop with its retro bass line. The bass vibrates and the percussion can be heard in soft thumps and hi-claps, with a fuzzy synth eventually complementing the bass line as Pierce croons a distinctively powerful echo. His voice commands the likes of recent acts like The Tough Alliance or Hot Hot Heat in his nasally, highly emotive delivery. Pierce, though, possesses more range than any vocalist in the aforementioned category, reaching the limits of his falsetto during a track like “Down By the Water” which also opts for deep dramatics, all of which are pulled off with the utmost precision.

“Let’s Go Surfing” recalls that surf-rock vibe in the title and content, supported by cheerful whistles and vigorous bass line that serve as a precursor to the obviously themed guitar licks. The chorus simply awaits a cheesy music video on Long Island or something; this whole youthful, invigorated tone is consistent throughout the track in a very enjoyable way. The tongue-in-cheek “Submarine” is a clear re-working of ’80s post-punk, somewhat similar to M83’s “Kim and Jessie”, with its distinctive guitar tones and forlorn calculations of a young relationship. This in particular is just so stereotypically and intentionally behind the times that its occasional flairs of modernism makes it all the better. To pull this off without sounding outdated or unoriginal requires some talent and precision, and The Drums have certainly found that here. The impressive thing about Summertime! is how The Drums are able to incorporate their varying techniques, most influenced by heroes of the past, into certain moods or content that associate well with their accompanying genre. The result is one hell of a debut.

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The Drums – Down By the Water

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The Drums – Let’s Go Surfing

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The Drums – Submarine

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Horse Shoes – Hey Come Back!

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